


Barking Up The Wrong Tree

by westyellowgroom



Series: Into the Forest [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Author is dyslexic, Established Relationship, No Beta, No particular POV, POV John (mostly), POV Sherlock (some), PTSD, bit-o-smut, hurt/comfort/illness, not brit-picked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 15:53:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16746973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westyellowgroom/pseuds/westyellowgroom
Summary: Story Note: Timeline May/June/July/Aug





	1. Hi, High, Higher

Lestrade bounded up the stairs quietly stating “Hi John. I’ve waited a bit on this one, not sure I really wanted to bring His Highness in on it or not.” Holding up a thick folder, as he comes through the door John opens.

“What’s so special about this one then?” John asks. Sherlock seems to be ignoring them while looking at slides on his microscope in the kitchen.

Greg, glancing around, lowers his voice “Drugs. Sherlock hasn’t been out of rehab for all that long…”

From the kitchen a rich baritone growls out, “I’ll be fine Lestrade.” Easing his tone as he continues at the raised eyebrow from John, “I can resist temptation and John is around to keep me in line. I promised him I would stay clean and I will. So, what really brought you here? You’re not on the drugs squad.” As he’s speaking, Sherlock rises and stalks into the lounge to observe Greg.

Lestrade answers Sherlock, “Well, people are turning up dead from apparent overdoses. Thing is, family and friends are swearing the victims aren’t drug users. So, either they were all very good at hiding their addictions.” Sherlock snorts derisively. Lestrade takes a calming breath and continues, “Or… they were murdered. All were found with a high concentration of a mixture of heroin and cocaine in their systems.”

Sherlock’s eyes light up “Speedballs are highly addictive, dangerous and often fatal. I almost succumbed before I met John, you found me just in time though Greg.”

“I didn’t find you in time! You weren’t breathing and your bloody heart stopped while I was checking your pulse! I had to perform CPR until the ambulance got there!” Greg practically shouts at Sherlock.

John, having moved further into the room, collapses into his chair at Greg’s outburst.

Sherlock seeing John so upset, “I’ll never use again John. I promised.” Rushing over to kneel in front of John.

John chokes out “That was the combination you used on the plane... and Smith… I almost lost you again then… I couldn’t… I don’t…” Looking lost, pale.

Sherlock takes John’s hands between his own, “I promised you I will never use again. You would leave if I were to expose Rosie to drugs. I don’t want to give you an excuse to ever leave me. I need you,” added, leaning in, a whisper, aware of Lestrade listening in, “I love you. Please don’t leave me, I’d be nothing without you. ” Pleading while looking John in the eyes.

John relaxes, nods, leans forward and kisses Sherlock’s forehead while whispering back “I love you too, I’m not going anywhere.” Leaning back, reassured, glancing at Greg “What makes you think these were murders then?” 

Lestrade enters the conversation again, “Molly has the latest two victims at Bart’s. They were found together, lifetime friends apparently. Shades of the killer cabbie case too, the bodies were found somewhere they’ve never been known to go to before. Neither man had the tell-tale marks of a habitual user. We didn’t find any needles or any other drug paraphernalia at the scene, their homes or where they worked.”

Frowning Sherlock verifies, “No needles were found with the bodies?”

\---

Thankfully, the first suspect they caught up with, Isaack Burrell, was fairly easy to apprehend. John was able to subdue him with minimal effort. Sherlock handcuffed the man to a secure pipe at the alley entrance with a pair of handcuffs stolen from Lestrade the week before. NSY should be able to easily find their location using him as a clue even in the dim twilight light, they weren’t that far behind; the sound of sirens coming closer filled the air. John took off after the two other suspects with Sherlock following at his heels for a change.

A few turns later we find Sherlock wrestling with Butch Caswell and just barely holding his own. Finally he gets in a hit that drops Caswell long enough for him to take a quick look to locate John. Several yards away, down the alley, Sherlock spots John trying to subdue their other suspect. Moose Muldoon is at least a foot taller than Sherlock and looks as though he spends his free time lifting weights… and that he has a LOT of free time. John is holding his own and lands more hits than he is taking.

Caswell rises as Sherlock makes his quick observation and he berates himself for not securing the felon while he was down. Sherlock pays attention once again to his own fight. After several minutes he finally is able to subdue Caswell yet again, this time using the man’s own belt to tie his hands and legs securely together, as Sherlock only had the one set of handcuffs and John has the zip ties in his jacket pocket.

Sherlock looks around for John again just as his fight takes a turn. Moose Muldoon picks John up, John manages to kick Moose hard in the groin as he’s lifted. Sherlock is too far away and can’t prevent Moose from throwing John, forcefully, against the brick wall of the alley. He watches in dismay as John hits the wall and then slowly slide down the wall, dazed. Moose advances toward John as Sherlock steps on something metallic. 

Glancing down Sherlock spots John’s gun, grabs it and fires as Moose moves to take hold of John again. The report of the gun discharging is deafening in the narrow space. A red stain starts to form on Muldoon’s side but he doesn’t go down, the man barely flinched. He turns toward Sherlock and takes a few menacing steps, murder in his eyes, teeth bared. Sherlock fires again, hitting center chest. Over the sight of Muldoon finally dropping face first, Sherlock sees John slowly raise a shaky left hand to the back of his head, grimacing in pain.

Through the ringing in his ears Sherlock hears John swear out “Bloody hell!” just before two police cars fill the alley with pulsing blue lights. 

\---

Lestrade, sounding tired and resigned “So, tell me again why you had to shoot Muldoon?”

This is the fourth time they’ve gone over this. Sherlock is desperate to be at John’s side, throwing his hands up in the air he answers, yet again, frustrated. “Muldoon threw John, hard, at the wall, stunning him. Muldoon was attacking John, John was dazed, defenceless. Muldoon would have killed him! I had no choice but to fire!”

“But why twice? Surely once was enough to bring him down? I don’t understand why you had to shoot him the second time Sherlock?” Greg is exasperated himself.

John was in an ambulance, at the end of the ally, being checked out by the paramedics. Sherlock wanted to be with him but was forced to explain his actions, yet again. Frustrated he turned, glaring and growled out, “He didn’t stop! Muldoon turned to attack me after the first shot! Do a blood test, you will find he was high and didn’t feel his wounds!” Finally Sherlock had all he could take and turns on his heel to quickly stride over toward John, Belstaff billowing in his wake.

Behind him, Lestrade yells out “Hey, we’re not done yet!”

Sherlock snarls out over his shoulder “You know where to find me” without stopping.

\---

The Personal Blog of   
Dr. John H. Watson  
14th May

Against The Wall

The headaches were subsiding (sigh). At least I wasn’t knocked out this time around, I was slammed, make that forcibly thrown, against a wall. The concussion was only mild this time, came too soon after the last one though. Also have a few bruised ribs, at least nothing was broken. 

Unfortunately this is about all I can tell you about the killer drug dealers Sherlock and I took out of commission as the case is still unfolding. Suffice it say London is a safer place.

\---

The next afternoon Lestrade is let into 221 Baker Street by Mrs. Hudson. Knocking while walking through the open door of the flat, he spies Sherlock at the kitchen table looking at a slide in the microscope. Glancing around he doesn’t spot John, but the coat he was wearing the other night is hanging next to Sherlock’s on the wall. “Hey Sherlock. How’s John doing? I came by to check on him and let you know the results of the toxin screen on Moose Muldoon.”

“John will be fine, nothing was broken; a couple bruised ribs, mild concussion. He’s having a rest with Rosie in the bedroom.” Glancing at the clock, then at Greg, “So what was Muldoon on?”

Scratching the back of his head “Heroin and cocaine, surprised he was upright with the amount in his system to be honest.” Looking Sherlock in the eyes “He probably didn’t feel the first shot. I’m sorry I harassed you at the scene, I know how worried you must have been about John.” Waving a hand down the hall. “Speaking of which, I also came to return his gun.” Pulling an evidence bag out of his coat pocket, hesitating and not handing it to Sherlock.

“Oh come on! You don’t trust me with it, do you?” Sherlock demands, upset.

Looking pointedly over his shoulder at the bullet ridden smiley face on the wall in the lounge. “Well, no, not really.” Lestrade answers, looking back. “Why don’t I just leave it in the bedroom with John?” Starting to step toward the hall.

“NO!” Sherlock hisses “Rosie is in there, John will not appreciate you placing a firearm within her reach. I’ll wake him, wait here.”

Ignoring Sherlock, Lestrade follows him down the hall. From the doorway he could see John was curled up on his right side in the middle of the bed, a towel folded over his eyes. Rosie sleeping near the foot of the queen sized bed, in a portable crib. The curtains were drawn, lights off.

Then Sherlock closes the door, quietly. “I don’t want to wake him yet.”

“Why ever not?” Greg inquires, confused.

Starting to drive Lestrade back down the hall “Shh, keep your voice down. Don’t wake them, I’ll tell you,” pushing again, “move.”

Lestrade allowed himself to be herded down the hall back to the kitchen. “Alright Sherlock, what’s going on?” slightly perturbed.

Sherlock readies the kettle and flips it on, turns to lean his lower back against the counter. “Since Wolfe and Anderson sent John to hospital he’s been prone to headaches. You’ve known that some of them have been migraines, bad ones. They were almost gone, then yesterday… Muldoon threw him against the wall where John ended up with yet another concussion.” Pointing toward the bedroom, “You saw he had his eyes covered, that’s a sign he had a migraine when he went to lay down. John requested I wake him around 4pm, it’s not quite 3. I will wait and follow his instructions.”

Frowning “I don’t understand the folded towel…”

Sighing in frustration “Migraines, for John, bring light and scent sensitivity. The folded towel blocks the light and is a signal to me not to wake him until the designated time. Odds are he has a bit of menthol cream under his nose to block scent.” Lestrade frowns and gives him a confused look. “There was a jar of the stuff on the nightstand.” Sherlock opens the cupboard over the sink, bringing down an old chipped Cambridge mug from the back. Retrieving a key hidden inside he motions for Greg to follow him.

On the desk between the front windows is a strong box, Sherlock unlocks it with the key. “You can place John’s gun in here. He can retrieve it from here.” 

Lestrade notices there is a large calibre revolver in there and places John’s firearm next to it, still in the evidence bag. Sherlock locks the box and returns the key to its hiding place. The kettle clicks off as Sherlock asks Lestrade, “Tea?”


	2. Hard Bodies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have conflicting information on the birthday of John H Watson MD. One website claims it as the death date of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, 7/7/1930. Another site, listed it as 8/7 (no year). As an avid ACD fan I chose to use 7/7/1971 for the purpose of my story. BTW before you can ask I have Sherlock as 1/6/1976. I chose to use Martin & Benedict’s birth years.

The Personal Blog of   
Dr. John H. Watson  
2nd June

Body and Soul

I’ve been lax again about updating, sorry. Don’t think I mentioned it before, but I have a new job lined up in the New Year. I’ll be a professor at Saint Bartholomew’s Teaching Hospital starting in January! In the meantime, I gave notice at the surgery where I was working. I could use the free time to fully mend and to bond with my daughter. I think Sherlock likes having me around at his beck and call as well.

We have been having some fun with all my free time. I’ve been taking Rosie for a walk every day, Sherlock joins us more often than not. Between the walks and going to the gym, I believe I’ve finally gotten back in shape. Quite frankly, I never thought I’d get into this good of condition ever again after leaving the army. Between the exercise and more home cooked meals I feel healthier than I have in a long time. I know my GP at my latest physical was rather impressed with the improvements. I can’t help but notice Sherlock looks healthier as well. 

Not to say we don’t still enjoy the occasional take-out. Don’t think either of us could survive without a good curry on a regular basis. That, and I think there would be rioting if eggrolls were ever banned.

\---

The cases have not been as intense, physically, as those in the earlier months of the year. No one has tried to kill or maim either man for the past month. John and Sherlock both have enjoyed the change in the criminal element. Sherlock was pleased they had been more intellectually challenging, not on par with Moriarty (thankfully!), but good enough. John was delighted they hadn’t been physically attacked for a while; gives him a chance to properly mend.

The only bruising both men were currently sporting were inflicted, accidently, to one another, while being intimate. Just yesterday they wrapped up an embezzlement case for a well to do private client who paid them more than requested as a thank you for such a quick solution to his problem. They celebrated well into the night. As such, John was a bit stiff and sore and decided to take a hot bath this morning and relax.

“John? Sarah’s on your phone, do you want to work today? One of the Doctors called in sick.” Sherlock calls through the closed bathroom door.

“I can’t hear you clearly Sherlock. The doors not locked, come on in.” John calls back.

Mumbling to himself “stupid” Sherlock opens the door and enters. He opens his mouth to speak but loses his train of thought as he spots John, stretched out, head back, resting on a rolled towel, eyes closed, naked, soaking in the tub. Naked… It’s been awhile since he’s seen John naked in full daylight. John has been taking advantage of the gym at the hospital, and it clearly shows. John’s chest is well formed, his stomach is flat, solid muscle where a bit of pudge used to be, a strong hint toward a six pack. Sherlock swears as he feels as though all the blood in his body just headed to his groin. “Fuck” he growls low. 

John opens his eyes and grins at the hungry look on his lovers face. “Sherlock?”

Sherlock blinks a few times in rapid succession, holds up John’s phone in his hand “Sarah. Do you want to work today?” Shaking his head no with a pleading expression, pupils blown wide, a growing bulge in the front of his trousers.

John reaches out for his phone as Sherlock hands it to him “Sarah? Yeah. Hi.” Listens to whatever she is saying on the other end while watching Sherlock practically drool at him. “I wouldn’t be able to make it in for a couple of hours.” He cannot help but react to Sherlock staring at him like that, which makes Sherlock’s ogling worse. Cough “You know what, now that I’ve checked my calendar I can’t make it in today. Maybe tomorrow?” Staring at Sherlock, voice rough, John runs a hand up the underside of his own rapidly hardening cock. Sherlock, licking his lips, starts to undress quickly, popping a couple shirt buttons in his haste.

As John hangs up all he can think is ‘Happy Birthday to me’, setting his phone on top of the hamper with a big smile. John asks, “Where’s Rosie?”

Sherlock hesitates a moment, seems all the blood in his brain took a dive south. “She’s with Mrs. Hudson; they went next door to Mrs. Turners. Her daughter and grandson are visiting, Hudders thought it would be good for the children to play together.” Sherlock waves a nonchalant circle in the air “Said they would be there until afternoon tea.”

Unknown to John, Sherlock did not forget the anniversary of his being brought into this world. Sherlock had even ordered a cake and had arranged for Angelo’s to deliver all of John’s favourites for them, along with a nice bottle of wine. He had even notified Lestrade that they were not to be disturbed for any reason at all today, even for a ranked 10 locked room multiple murder.

\---

“Shite” John growls out, fiercely.

Dressing across the bedroom Sherlock inwardly cringes, desperately thinking, trying to figure out what, if anything, he did wrong. “John?” He can’t help but become unnerved when John is pissed around him since the incident with Culverton Smith.

“None of my clothes fit anymore, I need to add another hole to my belt to keep my trousers up.” Growled.

Relieved, “I didn’t get you anything for your birthday last week, let me buy you a couple outfits.”

“I don’t need bespoke…”

“Is Marks & Spencer satisfactory?”

“Yeah, good, alright.”

“Good. See if Molly can watch Rosie tomorrow. We’ll make a day of it, we could both use a trim.”

“Um, okay. You going to go to my barber?” frowning, a bit confused, picking up his phone to text Molly.

“No John. You are going to see my stylist. Then we will enjoy lunch and go shopping.”

\---

In the end Molly and Mrs. Hudson both take Rosie to the London Zoo for the day using annual passes Sherlock purchased shortly after John moved back to Baker Street. 

John follows Sherlock to his stylist where they are both treated to a manicure, pedicure, a shave and a haircut. John can’t believe how smooth and soft his feet feel. That and the last time he had a shave this close was from Sherlock back in January while he was in hospital. By the time they are done with Sherlock’s stylist, John was hungry, his morning toast and jam a done job.

John is glad he put on his best clothes that still fit when they left this morning and had his hair cut. The menu the waiter handed him didn’t have any prices on it and everything was in a foreign language. Clearing his throat, John whispers, “Um Sherlock?”

“Order whatever you want John. Lunch is on me, anything you want.” Sherlock reassures at his normal tone not looking up from perusing his menu.

Rising an eyebrow, John replies low, “I would if I knew what anything was, I can’t read a thing.”

“I have noticed you squinting a bit at those horrid little mystery novels you insist on reading lately. Didn’t think the font here was that small though… you might want to look into glasses.” Still looking at his menu.

Both eyebrows raised, voice a bit louder, “It’s not the font you git! What language is this?”

Finally looking at John, “French... problem?” Thankfully Sherlock left the ‘obviously’ silent.

A bit exasperated, “The main food word I know in French is flambé, not much help with this.” Shaking the menu once in frustration.

Sitting back in his chair and raising his eyebrows in epiphany. “Oh. I, um, forgot. What would you like? There is fish, lamb, beef and chicken…”

Calmer, “fish, something simple.”

“Halibut sautéed in a butter and caper sauce alright?”

Smiling, “sounds good, which one of these is it?” running his finger down the menu.

Two hours later a well sated Doctor and his Consulting Detective boyfriend exit the restaurant hand in hand. Both men ended up with the halibut in a butter and lemon caper sauce, green salads and a lovely bottle of a crisp chardonnay wine followed by a simple, yet delicious, crème brulèe for pudding along with a cup of coffee. Their waiter was very happy with his customers and the large tip they left.

An hour and a half later though, things are different at Marks and Spencer. “This is too much Sherlock…” John starts to protest.

“I told you I wanted to get you a couple outfits and I meant for them to be from the skin out. Now stop complaining, you’ll just love the feel of the silk pants and cashmere socks against your skin.” 

“I enjoy them on you!” Turning a light shade of pink, “I don’t need anything so posh. I’m just an ordinary bloke, cotton and lambs wool are just fine with me.”

“Indulge me, I want to purchase these for you. I want to see you in them, I want to feel you in them...” Sighing. “You are nothing close to ordinary John. Please for me?”

“Fine. Why the leather washbag though? I have a washbag…” Feeling a bit overwhelmed.

“The zipper in yours popped open on the last trip we took for a case, you obviously need a new one.”

Sighing, “Fine. Fine, we can get it all. Mind, you don’t need to get me anything for the next five Christmases after all of this.” John waves to the pile on the counter. Two three piece suits, pants, socks as well as several denim jeans. Two leather belts, one in black the other a polished brown. In addition a few button down and polo shirts and jumpers in colours Sherlock insisted brought out the colour of John’s eyes topped the stack. 

\---

Several days later… Sherlock took Rosie with him when he went out to run a few errands. A quick trip to Bart’s to return some no longer needed fingers but mainly a trip to the chemists to stock up on lube as they were running low. They were out of the flat for not quite two hours. Sherlock headed home when Rosie started fussing, getting tired and figured she would be more comfortable napping in her crib than strapped to his chest.

Sherlock quietly opens the street door to Baker Street and lightly treks up the 17 steps to flat B so as not to startle a dozing Rosie. John left the hall door to the lounge open to allow a warm mid-June breeze to flow though. Sherlock spots John in the kitchen, facing the counter humming and swaying his hips to the beat of a song on the radio. Mesmerized by John’s movements, Sherlock enjoys the show for a few minutes before speaking.

“You can dance.” Purred in a deep baritone.

Startled, John quickly spins around, holding out a rubber spatula, with bits of dough dripping from it, as a weapon. “Oh, it’s you… I was just mixing up a batch of biscuits.” John relaxes. “I don’t dance…”

“I would have helped…” Sherlock starts to pout.

“It’s for the hospital, well the day care, they sent an email out asking the ‘mothers’ (spreading his floured specked hands to imply himself) to mix up a batch or two of biscuit dough. They give the children snacks throughout their stay and the staff would prefer something healthier than store bought. They even sent along a few recipes.” Pointing at his laptop on the end of the table. “I started the chocolate chip recipe, we had the ingredients. I’ll need to make a trip to the shops later for some of the ingredients for the oatmeal ones.”

Still cradling a now sleeping Rosie to his chest, “You know how much I enjoy cooking with you.” Sherlock continues to pout, a bit upset.

“They didn’t ask for finished biscuits, only frozen dough ready to pop in the oven. I didn’t think you would be interested… I’m sorry, I should have asked to see if you wanted to help. We can make up more after a trip to the shops for more butter and raisins.”

“John, you remember what that American chef said, ‘raisins are always optional’. We’ll replace them with dried cranberries, much healthier with fewer allergies associated.”

Nodding with a fond smile, “Yes, Alton Brown, I’m impressed you remembered. Thought you had deleted the whole ordeal.” 

“How could I possibly forget someone you referred to as a cross between Bill Nye and Julia Child? That and we did, what is it you referred to it as, binge watch, his show last Easter with Mummy. He was very informative.”

Pointing a flour specked hand toward Sherlock and Rosie, “You, um, want me to put her down for her nap or do you want to just hold her while she sleeps?”

Just as Sherlock is about to answer, they hear Mrs. Hudson knock on the door to the flat and call out. “Woo hoo boys. I brought up some tea and warm scones.”  
Looking down at his chest as though he’s forgotten about the baby he had been cuddling and gently rocking. “I’ll just go pop up and put her down…” Looking at John, “Don’t make any more dough without me.” Turns, passes Mrs. Hudson and heads up the stairs to Rosie’s room.

John quickly wipes his hands clean to take the tray, “Thank you Mrs. Hudson, this looks wonderful.”

\---

It’s not uncommon for John to wake up alone in an empty cold bed. Even though he would prefer the company, he knows Sherlock would be bored to tears just watching him sleep. Today, however, the sheets are still warm and John can hear Sherlock talking to whom he believes to be Rosie in the kitchen. Happily he does a quick stretch of his various limbs before rising to do his morning ablutions.

When finished, John walks into the kitchen to see the mess Sherlock made while doing something with Rosie. Kissing the top of Rosie’s head from where she’s sitting in her highchair, playing with her bee toy, he greets Sherlock, “Good morning love.”

“John! Go back to bed, I was just finishing helping Rosie make you breakfast in bed for Father’s Day.” 

\---

The Personal Blog of   
Dr. John H. Watson  
18th June

Fatherhood

Happy Father’s Day! 

My daughter, with a LOT of help from Sherlock, surprised me with breakfast in bed this morning. Rosie then insisted (via Sherlock) we had to spend the day at the zoo. I did, thankfully, prearrange to have a dinner delivered from our favourite Italian eatery, Angelo’s. We whipped up a quick salad, had a lovely dinner of mushroom ravioli and a risotto Sherlock prefers. Ended up having dinner and a movie, can’t believe Sherlock had never seen The Princess Bride before. Sherlock even said we’ll have to watch it again when Rosie is older and can appreciate it better (she fell asleep in the fire swamp!).

Rosie did give us a gift, she sat up for the first time by herself today!


	3. It's Never Twins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I channel my inner psychopath through yarn, crocheting is more relaxing than one would think… I am truly a sick son-of-a-bitch, I could give Moriarty a run for his money without too much effort. A few friends were worried about me during this chapter, I’d go quiet with an evil grin on my face as I jotted down quick notes; most thoughts didn’t make it here – too disturbing and I do like the characters. I am truly sorry for not being able to get what is in the horror of my brain properly in print sometimes. With that said, this chapter has a bit of torture and can be upsetting for some. 
> 
> You have been warned.

John was in his armchair sipping a cup of tea while reading the newspaper when Sherlock strolled in and tossed a hat with a pair dark sunglasses folded up inside onto his lap. Picking them up and looking at Sherlock, John asks, “What’s this for?” John thought they left these at Sherlock’s parents when they had visited over Easter.

“Lestrade texted with a case.”

“And you want me to come along.” More a statement than a question.

“I’d be lost without my blogger.” Sherlock smiles.

John smiles in return and questions “What about Rosie?”

“I just changed her and put her down for her morning nap, Mrs. Hudson is on her way up to stay with her. Will you come?” the please is silent, but John heard it anyways.

“Of course, just let me put on my shoes. What’s the case about?” John asks as he grabs a shoe off the cold hearth.

“Dead body at a house burglary. The robbers were brutal with the body according to Greg. He thinks it is similar to a case in Dover last week. We will meet him at the crime scene then go to the Yard to go over the other file, Dover police are faxing it over.”

A twenty-minute cab ride later, they arrive on scene. It must be brutal as Lestrade is waiting outside for them. “Hi guys, thanks for coming.” Greg greets at they walk up. “This one is bloody…” 

Sally Donovan is once again manning the yellow crime scene tape, standing near Lestrade. Sherlock greets her with smile and a friendly “Hello Sally”.

The reply is anything but friendly as she sneers “Hello Freak” with a sneer on her face. “What’s with your pet today, going in disguise with the hat and glasses, or just too embarrassed to be seen with you?”

Captain Watson is pissed “Enough!” he commands the same time that Lestrade bellows “Donovan!”

John looks at Greg “You know, with my contract I have the right to prevent certain hostile personnel at crime scenes I’m working at. I’m seriously considering it!” he snarls the last part, toward Donovan.

Sherlock is smirking, Greg looks shocked and Donovan looks utterly confused. 

John decides to clear Donovan’s confusion, he comes to attention and continues in his Captains Voice, while staring her down. “I’ve been hired by St. Bart’s. Part of my duties is to take over the contract Doctor Quincy has with the MET as a medical consultant, a paid consultant along with my assistant Sherlock Holmes (patting Sherlock’s forearm). We will start officially covering in January but, while Doctor Quincy is currently on vacation I, no make that we, are on duty. I have the right to refuse to work with certain officers I find hostile to my assistant and myself. Something you should well remember Sargent Donovan.”

“You must be joking.” Sally chokes out with half a grin.

Sherlock answers, “Nope, I was a witness on his contract along with Doctor Mike Stamford. John is a paid consultant, no more free ride for the Yard.” He looks excessively happy with her distress. Sherlock turns to Lestrade “I believe we have a crime scene to investigate?”

Sally pales and begs Lestrade to tell her it is a mistake, a joke “Greg?”

“They’re right Donovan. I should have put a stop to your verbal attacks long ago.” Making a decision “Go home, I’m giving you three days suspension, without pay. You verbally attacked Sherlock and John without provocation, I can’t condone that.”

“Greg, you can’t be serious!” Sally is incredulous and furious.

“Go home and think about your career Sargent Donovan. Anderson came around, I’m sure you can as well.” Turning to head into the house, calling out “Pederson, with me, Jameson man the tape.”

Sherlock turns without another word to follow Lestrade, John follows at Sherlock’s elbow removing his sunglasses. They are at an old Victorian home, set back from the street, on its own lot, isolated a bit from the neighbours. An iron and brick fence along with a tall yew hedge hide the lawn and flower beds from the street. There is a metallic tang to the air as they walk through the front door of the house. Greg and Peterson, lagging behind, point Sherlock and John into the drawing room to the right of the entryway.

“Shite” is the first thing John can think of saying as they pass through the doorway, pausing to take it all in. There is a very dead, grimacing man tied to a desk chair with what looks like the tiebacks from the window curtains. It looks as though every bone that can be easily broken had been. Under the chair is an oriental rug with a growing blood stain from the still slowly dripping body seated above. They’ll have to look at the body cleaned up at the morgue to find where all the blood is coming from. The walls and ceilings have castoff blood evidence splattered over them as well.

From just outside the door, Greg pulls out his notebook and starts reading, “This is the homeowner, Leland Smith, 56. His wife, Shannon, found him an hour ago. She is in the kitchen with the paramedics at the moment. She was with their daughter and their new grandchild last night. Mrs. Smith stated she talked to her husband on the phone around 9pm last night. She’s a bit too distraught to remember everything that was taken but her jewellery box is empty as is the safe in the husbands study.”

While Greg was talking, Sherlock quickly examines the body then the fireplace. “Candlesticks and some sort of figurine are missing from the mantle as well.” He looks at Greg’s frown, points to where he was looking, “Dust.” Then goes about looking at the rest of the room.

John examines the body “Poor fellow was tortured. Probably to get the combination for the safe.” He looks at Sherlock “They broke all his fingers and took his wedding band. There are no hesitation marks to any of these cuts.” 

Sherlock just hums in acknowledgement while examining the curtains and the windows behind them. “Lestrade, they broke the window to gain access to the house, there is blood on some of the glass.”

“Right, I’ll get the techs to collect that.” A bit pale. 

\---

Molly hands Sherlock the lab results from the murder of Leland Smith then goes over to pull out his body from cold storage. Sherlock having read them shoves the file at John to examine. 

“Jesus, not all the blood on the body was Smiths!” John spots a similarity and makes a suggestion.

“It’s NEVER twins John! The statistical probabilities prohibit…” Sherlock begins. 

John can tell it is going to be a long, involved, highly detailed, oration. Not wanting to hear the lecture, yet again, “Okay, I get it, I know. But, you have to admit the DNA results show almost identical markers, clearly a very close relation.” Trying to be reasonable.

“Almost being the operative word, John.” Sherlock sighs. “Molly must have made a mistake, so unlike her. The samples are clearly from both a male and a female, not twins.” The last word with a sneer and a twist of the lip too similar to Mycroft for John’s liking.

Molly cries out defending herself, “Hey!”

“You know, there is such a thing as fraternal twins. Multiple eggs being fertilized, can be same or different genders? Similar DNA but not identical…” John enlightens.

\---

It is just past midday on a Sunday when they follow a tip to where their suspects might be hiding out at a multiple storied construction site. Sherlock had collected John downstairs having tea with Mrs. Hudson before setting out. They are unarmed, neither man wanted to take the risk of waking a sleeping Rosie to retrieve John’s gun. Electricians, plumbers and general contractors left their tools and supplies scattered throughout the site. They found a guard dead, shot in the head, on the ground floor just inside the makeshift doorway before everything went to hell. Sherlock in his excitement forgot to inform Lestrade of their location before they left and John didn’t realize it until it was too late. They are alone and at the mercy of two burglars who happen to be homicidal maniacs.

“Robert shoot Dr. Watson if this one doesn’t cooperate, start with his right knee.” Roberta King instructs her brother. Standing 5 feet 7 inches tall, and athletically built with pale skin and dark hair and eyes, this woman has a murderous feel about her. Her brother is taller but has the same long, dark brown hair and colouring as his sister, he is just as cold and calculating as she.

John has no chance to do anything before the booted 6 foot 4 inch tall gorilla, known as Robert King, kicks the side of his right knee knocking him to the ground. John cannot help the gasp of pain he makes, he is not sure if his knee is broken, dislocated or just badly bruised. None of the options are any good.

“I said shoot him, not kick him dear brother. Doesn’t matter, get him up on his feet, I want this one here to watch me interrogate the good Doctor.” Brandishing a long, sharp knife in Sherlock’s face. From his position on the floor, John can tell Sherlock is trying not to let his emotions show.

Robert kicks John in the back over his right kidney followed by another to his ribs, over where Muldoon had bruised them several weeks back. John cannot hold back a pain filled groan. Robert leans the barrel of a pistol onto John’s right temple and smiles as he orders “Get up old man, we’re gonna have so much fun.”

Not sure how they are going to get out of this one John slowly and cautiously stands while glancing at Sherlock. Sherlock slightly raises an eyebrow at him asking if he is alright. John shifts his weight between his legs, painful but good in the short term; the ribs are more of a concern, it hurts to breathe. He gives a slight nod in return, he can fight if needs be. Both gestures go by so quickly they are unnoticed by their captors.

“Go easy Robert, I want them to last… we’re not gonna get much loot out of ‘em. We can still have some fun with them though.” Nodding toward John, “Secure his hands behind his back, oh and wrap him around the pillar. Can’t have him getting away now can we?” Turning back to Sherlock before clasping a set of Lestrade’s purloined handcuffs on the detective, hands behind his back. “So good of you to come prepared for me.” She purrs at Sherlock, before adding menacingly, “Okay, first I want to know how you found out about us. We were careful about not leaving anything incriminating behind.” Waving a long, sharp filet knife in Sherlock’s face again, eye to eye backing him up closer to John.

Sherlock stops moving and smirks at her, “Oh, I wouldn’t say that… You two left quite a bloody mess at the Smith house. Should be more careful when breaking and entering through windows.” Looking at her closely, “You’re pregnant.” Roberta’s eyes widen, “Oh, interesting. Incest. Does he know?” Sherlock chances a glance over to her brother, “No, probably not since he is seeing another woman on the side. The girlfriend must not know about you or this profession.”

Meanwhile, Robert found a roll of electrical wire to secure John’s hands. John tried resisting being trussed up and is rewarded by being pistol whipped against his right temple for his troubles. While John is dazed, Robert tightly wraps the wire around one of John’s wrists before pulling his arm roughly behind him. Before he knows it, John’s hands are secured behind his back, uncomfortably hugging a narrow pillar backwards.

“Shut it you!” Angrily shoving Sherlock over toward her brother via the knife tip, “Watch this one closely Robert, I don’t want him to escape or to interfere with any of my fun.” Roberta leers at John in anticipation. “Where to begin…” She prowls around the pillar, relinquishing control of Sherlock to her twin brother. “First off, I think we should see what we’re dealing with” she whispers seductively in John’s ear as she slowly slices his old blue plaid shirt off, none too carefully, exposing his upper body.

Sher purrs, “Oh, very nice. You’ll leave a lovely corpse.” Lightly grazing long sharp fingernails up John’s muscled torso. “I think this can be improved upon though.” Pointing a sharp fingernail of her left hand into the scar on the front of his left shoulder. “Looks like this was painful, I wonder if I can get my knife through the same hole.” She wonders, staring John in the eye as he glares back, blood slowly trickling down the right side of his face from where Robert hit him. 

“Hmmm, no. Too much work up front, maybe after you’ve been warmed up a bit.” She slaps John backhanded across the face with her knife free hand. 

Running her empty hand up John’s right thigh, “Maybe we should get you naked, give your boyfriend one last look.” Cupping John’s crotch, “Oh, nice” running her hand around to tightly squeeze his right butt cheek. With the hand holding the knife she slices the button from John’s jeans off, nicking him just above his belly button with the sharp tip of the blade. “Not going to say anything? Pity, I enjoy it when they scream.” Roberta pouts.

She walks behind John to pick up a loaded nail gun from the work table next to Sherlock. “Let’s see what this will do shall we?” Sounding all pleasant and pleased with the world. Robert is giggling while aiming his gun at a squirming Sherlock’s head.

John feels the cool metal of the tool touch the back of his shoulder in the center of his scar. The pain that follows knocks the breath out of him. He can’t seem to pull in any air to scream in agony. He would have fallen to his knees if not for the wire holding him firmly upright to the post.

Distantly he can hear Sherlock call his name. 

\---

This is all his fault, he failed to notify the Yard where they were going while following up a clue. John is going to be so pissed at him for letting them become caught by this pair of psychopaths! As it is, Sherlock is too far away and preoccupied to help John regain his feet after Robert King kicks him. He’s not sure how they will be able to get out of this one.

He can’t do anything while avoiding being stabbed in the eye, Roberta keeps advancing. He can only hope John can break free somehow. John did punch Robert in the solar plexus, it didn’t do much other than anger the large man. Sherlock risks a glance at his lover to see him take a blow to the right temple leaving him a bit dazed. He can’t do anything to prevent John from being trussed to a pillar in the middle of the room. Roberta brings him back to himself when she claps Lestrade’s handcuffs over his wrists behind his back. 

Things don’t look too good. Thankfully, Roberta trades prisoners with her brother. Sherlock is able to wriggle closer to the worktable he was backed up against and seized a couple bits of wire to try and pick the lock on the cuffs. Robert is too engrossed watching his sister to take guarding Sherlock too seriously; the prisoner is handcuffed, what’s he going to do?

He watches while one of John’s old blue checked button up shirts is sliced, none to carefully from his torso. There are several light scratches from the knife tip over John’s chest

Sherlock watches in horror as Roberta picks up the nail gun and practically dances her way over to where John is secured to a nearby pillar. Unknown to his captors, he has been picking the lock of the handcuffs securing him. 

While the King siblings are rapturously watching John in pain Sherlock shucks his cuffs, he doesn’t remember calling out John’s name. He throws a punch with his right fist, breaking Robert King’s nose. King loosened his grip on the gun in his hand enough for Sherlock to seize it from him. Sherlock used the butt of the pistol to viscously knock his attacker unconscious.

Roberta doesn’t realize Sherlock has the gun or chooses to ignore it, she tried firing the nail gun at Sherlock to find it won’t work unless the tip is against a solid surface. Dropping the nail gun, she lunges the knife at him as he drives her further from John and the post he is secured to. After a brief struggle, Sherlock has Roberta King finally pressed against the far wall, one hand gripping her right wrist above her head. The filet knife is on the floor several feet away. She is fighting as hard as she can using her free left hand. Just before she can rake her long nails over Sherlock’s face, he raises the barrel of her brothers’ gun, pressing it against her temple and snarls viciously, “Give me an excuse, please.”

\---

“I really don’t want to ride in an ambulance, we should be alright with a taxi Greg.” John states sitting on a step in the back of said ambulance, left hand gripping a rear belt loop on his denims to keep his shoulder from moving too much. Robert King is moaning, securely handcuffed to the gurney inside being tended to by one of the techs. John winces when the tech treating him presses an absorbent pad over the nail still imbedded in his slowly bleeding left shoulder.

“Oh for God sake! Right, I can give you a ride.” Glancing over at the frown Sherlock is sporting “I drove my car, not a panda. Wait here, I’ll bring it around closer.” Lestrade quickly walks off toward the main street.

John watched the exchange and noticed a discoloration under Sherlock’s jacket when he turned to watch Greg leave. “Sherlock, were you cut? Let me look at it.” Beckoning Sherlock closer with his right hand.

“It’s nothing John, just a scratch, nothing to worry about.” Sherlock mutters, not meeting John’s eyes.

“Let me be the judge of that.” Pulling the suit jacket to the side John notices a large bloodstain on Sherlock left side over his ribs. “You’re bleeding.” Turning his head to one of the ambulance techs, “Get me something to clean it with.” 

The tech hesitates until Sherlock huffs, pointing at John “He’s a Doctor, just do what he says.”

John has Sherlock hold his jacket open while he onehandedly unbuttons the ripped and bloody shirt. Frowning he starts to clean the blood away from around the wound with his right hand, “You’ll need a few stitches for this. The A&E can see to it while I get treated.” Then asking the tech “Do you have pad we can put on this to keep it clean?”

The tech nods then starts to rummage through drawers.

“I’d rather you sewed me up John.” Sherlock begs. 

The tech hands John a sterile pad. John closes his eyes a moment and takes a calming breath. “Seriously? I’ll see what I can do when we get to hospital. Keep your arm pressed down on this, button yourself back up. Then you can help me limp to Greg’s car.” Pointing at the silver sedan coming around the corner with his right hand.

\---

An hour later, they are in an exam room at St Bart’s A&E, where they had requested Greg to take them. Waiting for his x-rays to be officially looked at and the surgeon to remove the nail in John’s shoulder, John tends to Sherlock’s wounds with a bit of help. 

“When was the last time you had a physical Sherlock?” John asks as he is stitching up the cut along the left side of his lover’s ribs from subduing Roberta King. John must admit, Sherlock has put on more muscle and looks healthier than he can ever recall seeing him before.

Sherlock waves his gloved right hand holding forceps, “I don’t know. The last time you gave me one?” ends questioningly.

John sits back and looks at him. He’s serious. “I’ve never given you a physical, only patched you up here and there.” He’s a bit concerned now “Who is your General Practitioner?”

John receives a look that would kill a lesser man “I thought that was you?” smirking, “I only want the best after all.”

John answers while he carefully ties another stitch one handed with Sherlock’s assistance, “Not really a good idea to be that close to a patient.” Sherlock quirks an eyebrow at him with a grin as he snips the thread when and where John indicates. John doesn’t even try to argue, he knows when he’s beaten. “Guess I could ask Mike a favour, see if I can get a few supplies. Have him run the tests through his office.” They tie the last stich “Do you want to do it here at the hospital or at home.” John knew the answer before it fully left his mouth. 

“Home John, I don’t like hospitals.” Coming from the man John first met in a hospital lab.

“Right.” He disinfects the area again, applies antibiotic salve and a clean bandage. “Keep it dry, try not to stretch the area too much. Change it if you shower later.” Sherlock takes off both their gloves. 

John shuts his eyes and resists the urge to massage his forehead while leaning against the exam bed. Since January, stress brings headaches and Sherlock being injured brings stress. Being hit in the head yet again doesn’t help either.

\---

Someone high up influenced John’s care again as his surgery was done laparoscopically. The tip of the nail had stopped at a metal plate the army restored his scapula with. The surgeon was able to remove the nail, a bone chip as well as a small bullet fragment overlooked from the original war injury.

The hospital wanted to keep John overnight for observation, he just wanted to go home. Almost twenty-four hours later John is finally released into Sherlock’s care. Gone was the docile duo from January. The hospital staff is not sure who they are happier to see the backside of, their irritable patient or his overly cantankerous ever present partner. 

\---

We’ve been home less than an hour. I thought I wanted a cup of tea so headed into the kitchen. I’m tired, feel drained; my shoulder, knee, ribs and lower back ache. I turned down the opiate pain reliever the surgeon offered, I don’t want to become addicted to them again and Sherlock is still fighting his cravings. It must be showing as I lean my hip against the counter by the sink, eyes closed.

“John? Are you alright?” Sherlock asks me concerned, still wearing his ripped bloody shirt.

I open my eyes and answer, “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” A bit harsher than I intended.

Sherlock levels his gaze at me, lifting an eyebrow “John?”

I should have known Sherlock would notice my discomfort. “Yes. No. Stress headache, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not fine. Sit down and relax, I will make the tea. We can order in tonight.” Hands me my phone, “See if Molly can keep Rosie, I think we could both use the rest after the last couple days.”

“Yeah, I’ll text her. Start the kettle, I’ll ready the pot.” 

“Right. Chinese good?”

“Not really hungry, order whatever you want.” Stress headaches also bring nausea.

“John stop. Go to the bedroom, strip and lay on your stomach.”

I start to protest, “Sherlock…”

“No John. Go. Lay down. I’ll get the kettle ready to turn on then come in and give you a massage.”

I don’t move.

Sherlock points toward the hall. “Go” he orders. When I still don’t move he adds, softer, pleading, “Go, I’ll give you a massage then you will take a hot shower while I order dinner. Next we can watch crap telly while we eat, go to bed early and wake up late.”

It does sound nice, “Right. You’re right.” I finally give in and rubbing my temple text Molly slowly left handed. 

_Exhausted, headache, can you keep Rosie tonight? - JH_

“I’ll be in the bedroom.” I leave my phone on kitchen table before limping down the hall to our room. I hear Sherlock puttering around in the kitchen. I strip and lay down on my stomach on the bed, right forearm under my head. I didn’t bother to turn on the lights. I close my eyes to wait, using one of Ella’s breathing techniques to enhance calm.

A few minutes later Sherlock comes down the hall and flicks on the light in the bathroom. The light coming through the glass door illuminates the bedroom in a soft greenish glow. I hear Sherlock wash his hands, open and close the cupboard in the loo before coming into the bedroom, shirtless, leaving the light on behind him.

“Molly texted back. She can keep Rosie overnight but has the day shift tomorrow. She will drop Rosie off at child-care on her way in. If we can’t pick Rosie up we’re to let her know.” Sherlock quietly informs me, placing a used bottle of massage oil on the nightstand.

“Mmm, I have a standing physiotherapy session tomorrow late-morning. I can pick up Rosie after.” I mumble back.

Sherlock is one of the best masseuses I have ever encountered. Loose, relaxed and feeling much better and highly aroused I don’t object as Sherlock shifts me to drape my legs over the side of the bed. Sherlock kneels on the floor, leans down and runs his tongue from the root of my cock to the tip. He then takes the base of my cock with one hand and unzips his own trousers and grips himself with the other.

I can’t help the “Oh god yes” that comes out. 

\---

John and Sherlock don’t hear the knock on the door downstairs or the quick conversation between Mrs. Hudson and a man’s deep voice. They hadn’t bothered to close the door into the flat when they got back as it was warm and the open window in the stairwell allowed a cooling breeze to flow through. The footsteps on the stairs were drowned out by heavy breathing, increased heart rates and moaning. 

Greg Lestrade enters the flat and hears strange noises coming from down the hall. The odd sounds are followed by John’s voice pleading “Please, oh god, please” followed a groan. Knowing all the enemies the two men have collected through the years Greg draws his firearm and works his way quickly and quietly down the hall, following the noise.

Greg is greeted by the view of Sherlock kneeling, shirtless, on the floor, between John’s legs with John’s cock in his mouth. Lestrade had perfect timing to arrive in the doorway just as John’s reclined body arches as he orgasms while moaning Sherlock’s name. Greg is so shocked he can’t move, just watches John, naked, in the throws ecstasy. He can’t help but stare at the heaving, chiselled chest, well-muscled stomach, strong thighs and the look of pure and utter bliss on the Doctors face.

Greg realizes where he is and what he is witnessing as Sherlock moans out John’s name as he brings himself to climax.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry!” Greg finally gets past his lips, backing out the door, hitting the wall in the hallway wall as he turns.

“Greg? Wait!” John calls out, hastily grabbing a dressing gown from the end of the bed tucking his right arm through the sleeve, not bothering with the left. Meanwhile Sherlock cleans himself off and tucks himself back into his trousers while rising. Both men hurry down the hall catching up to Lestrade in the kitchen. Holding closed the dressing gown with his left hand, John bids “Greg, wait. Stop.”

Greg stops, but won’t face either man “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to barge in. I heard noises…. I’m so sorry!” hanging his head, eyes closed, shoulders slumped. They can see he’s blushing in embarrassment.

John slowly walks up, places his right hand on Greg’s shoulder “It’s alright Greg, no harm done. Our fault for not closing the door.”

Sherlock is observing from behind John “How long has it been?” he quietly asks. Wiping his hands on his discarded ripped and bloody shirt, binning it when he’s done.

Blushing a deeper shade of red, Lestrade whips his head around to stare, wide eyed, at Sherlock “What?”

“How long since you have had sex?” Sherlock clarifies.

John jabs Sherlock with his right elbow, avoiding the stitches “Hey! A bit not good.”

“No. No, he’s right. It’s been too long, since before the divorce actually.” Greg admits, turning a deeper shade of red.

John is sympathetic “Oh Greg, why didn’t you say something. I could have been your wingman on pub nights, I could have helped you get a leg over.” He notices the tea pot Sherlock prepared, just waiting for hot water and flips on the filled kettle. “Why don’t you stay and have dinner with us? Chinese okay?”

“John?” Sherlock is a bit baffled by the offer and its timing.

John, looking at the confused and hurt look on Sherlock’s face “Hmm? What? Oh, no! Just friends! I’m yours love, and yours alone.” Giving Sherlock a quick peck on the lips.

Greg sputters out “No, no, I just dropped by to check in on you two, see how you were getting along after the attack.”

Sherlock answers pointing at his side, “I am fine, John gave me 7 stitches. John has a cracked rib and a strained knee, you know about the shoulder surgery. Sure you don’t want to stay? I was going to order an assortment… should be enough for three.” Looking over at John, “You should take a shower, wash the oil off. I’ll change your bandage after.”

Lestrade “Oil?” Putting up both hands in surrender. “Nope don’t answer, I don’t want to know.”

“Massage oil Greg. I gave John a massage, he had another headache.” Sherlock huffs.

\---

Feeling much better after his massage, orgasm and a hot shower, John, a bit hungry wanders back into the lounge wearing an untied dressing gown over pyjama pants and one of his old army t-shirts. Greg is drinking a beer sitting in Sherlock’s chair. The telly was on, showing a car running around a wet track, the driver was dressed all in white.

Sherlock, wearing another one of John’s old army t-shirts, is sitting on the couch, preparing two cups of tea from the pot on the coffee table. He smiles at John as he comes in. “Dinner should arrive shortly, BBC One seems to be having a Top Gear marathon.”

Giving Sherlock a quick kiss on the lips “Sounds perfect love” John whispers in Sherlock’s ear before sitting next to him on the couch, thighs and shoulders touching, taking the offered cup of tea. Taking a sip “Perfect, thank you.” 

\---

Around half ten, John asks “Did you drive here Greg?”

“Um, yeah John I did. Why?” 

“That’s your fifth beer, I can’t in good conscious let you drive home.”

“No. I’m good.” Slightly slurred.

Sherlock dangles a set of keys from his right index finger. “Not to worry, he’s not driving anywhere.” Takes a glance at the shocked look on John and Greg’s faces. “He was being annoying while you were in the shower John.” Sherlock complains, John just laughs.

“Well Greg, from the looks of it you have a few options. Option one, you can try to get the keys from us.” The look John gives says ‘you and what army’. “Option two, you take a cab home and collect your car in the morning. Or, option three, you spend the night here.”

“What? On the couch?” Insulted.

“No, Rosie’s room.” John sees the protest starting. “She’s at Molly’s for the night, my old bed is still up there. We can loan you pyjamas and I keep extra toothbrushes on hand.” Patting Sherlock on the knee. “Never know when one will be used in an experiment.”

\---

Several minutes later, in their bedroom, John looks up at the ceiling. “Did I make that much racket when I was up there Sherlock?”

“No, you have a much softer gait than Lestrade. He’s being especially loud tonight since he’s inebriated. You were very quiet, I had to strain to hear what you were up to.” Turning a bit pink.

Smirking “Oh really? And just what did you think I was ‘up to’?” dancing an eyebrow.

“We should find someone for Lestrade, he needs someone to take care of him” Sherlock hastily changes the subject.

“Yeah, I’m surprised he didn’t say anything before. We talked about everything on our pub nights, or at least I did.” John carefully pulls off his clothing, throwing it on an empty chair and gets in bed to Sherlock’s right.

Sherlock lifts an eyebrow at John, “That’s usually my side… Oh, the stitches. You don’t want to accidently bump them in the night.” Walks around the bed stripping, leaving a trail of discarded clothing behind him on the floor. “Maybe he wasn’t ready, or wanted something he thought he couldn’t have. I believe we had that in common from some of the looks he was giving you tonight.”

“What couldn’t he have? There were women flirting with us at the pubs all the time.” John frowns.

“That’s it, no more pub nights for you without me present!” Firm.

“And here I thought I was the jealous one.” John giggles.

“Besides, I imagine he thought you were good looking, almost as much as I did. I deduce the good Detective Inspector to be bisexual.” Lying down on the bed.

Blushing “The only bloke I had eyes for has been you ever since we met, everyone else has paled in comparison.” frowning “I never noticed if he flirted with me though.” Opening his arms up to Sherlock. “Too bad Molly has a new beau, have you met him, Matt Cooke? He seemed nice.” Pulling Sherlock closer, avoiding his tender left shoulder.

“I met him last week, not a psychopathic serial killer, seemed okay. He cares for her.” Sighing in contentment, snuggling next to John.

“Good. That’s nice, hate to have her date another Moriarty. And Thom was just disturbing on so many levels.” Shudders and takes a slow deep breath.

“John, would you, um, ever consider getting married again? You once stated there wouldn’t be another wedding…”

“It would depend upon the other person. I would want to be certain they cared for me as much as I do them. Rosie would have to like them too.” Looking at Sherlock smiling “Why? Are you asking me to marry you?”

Sherlock closes his eyes “Don’t be absurd John. I was wondering how much more time I had you for…” almost a whisper.

“Sherlock, look at me.” Kindly.

Sherlock shakes his head no.

Cupping a hand on Sherlock’s face. “Open your eyes love. (Another negative head shake from Sherlock.) Please? For me.” When John is certain Sherlock is looking him in the eyes and paying attention. “I am not going anywhere without you. I’m yours for as long you will have me. You’ll have to throw me bodily out of this flat before I will leave you, even then I will put up one hell of a fight. I love you, you daft git! I want us to grow old together.” Kisses Sherlock. “Now go to sleep. As much as I want to ravage you right now, my shoulder is aching and I am mindful of your stitches.” By the time John is done with his declaration, Sherlock has the biggest smile John has ever seen on his face.

Sherlock leans up and kisses John “I love you too John.”

\---

Too early in the morning, John and Sherlock wake to the sounds of thumping footsteps, loud coughing, and then multiple cupboard doors slamming in the kitchen. Next the fall of heavy footsteps down the hall and several booming knocks on their bedroom door. “Guys, you awake?” Lestrade calls out.

“What do you want Greg?” John moans back. Sherlock groans behind him, somehow spooning closer.

“Where do you keep the coffee? I can’t seem to find any!” Exasperated, through the door. 

“We’re out. Haven’t had a chance to go to the shops for a few days. If you want coffee you’ll have to get it at Speedy’s. We have a variety of tea though, cupboard left of the sink.” John answers.

A muffled curse through the door. “If I go down, do either of you want any?” Greg asks.

Behind John, Sherlock calls out “Black two sugars, none for John.”

“Be back in a bit, don’t lock the door!” Greg bids as they hear his heavy footfalls go back down the hall, then down the stairs.

Meanwhile, John demands of Sherlock “Why don’t I get a coffee?”

Sherlock takes a deep breath and lets it out down the back of John’s neck, sending shivers down his lovers back. “You prefer tea in the morning, obviously.”

Smiling “Obviously, thank you love.” Giving Sherlock a closed mouth kiss.

\---

When Greg returns he finds a freshly showered and shaved Sherlock, dressed in slacks and a white button down shirt, sleeves rolled up, in the kitchen pouring flour into a food processor. “Experiment?” he inquires while handing Sherlock his cup of coffee.

“Breakfast. John has been teaching me how to cook. I decided to surprise him with scones this morning.” Tossing slices of butter in the processor. 

“And here I thought you knew everything.” Greg jokes, sitting at the table to watch. “So where is John?”

Sherlock, “He’s having a bit of a lie in. I’m sure he’ll be out shortly.” Pulsing the processor several times then pouring in a milky liquid. Grabs the pan on the hob, then dumps the dough on the floured table. Greg watches as Sherlock divides and pats the dough into two circles about 2-centimeters thick.

“Never figured you for being domestic.” Greg teases while sipping his coffee.

Sherlock is standing over him holding a large knife at this point. “Best not to insult the chef when he’s armed inspector.” Sherlock cuts the dough and arranges it on the parchment lined pan. Brushes the tops with the last of the milky liquid before sprinkling them generously with sanding sugar. Then places the pan in the oven, adjusting the temperature. 

To Greg’s great surprise, Sherlock cleans up the mess he’d just made, taking sips of his coffee along the way. When everything is cleaned up, including the dishes from last night, Sherlock refills the kettle and clicks it on.

From behind Greg they hear a “Morning. What smells so good?” as John limps in wearing denims and a black polo shirt. 

Greg and Sherlock reply to the greeting with Sherlock adding “I made scones. Everything will be ready in a few minutes.”

John smiling “Ta love” as he grabs the jam and cream from the refrigerator and the honey from the side table. “How are your stitches this morning?”

“I’ve been ignoring them, they ache a bit.” Sherlock admits with a slight frown.

John wanders over to the sink, his shirt rising up in the back as he reaches to grab a pill bottle off the top shelf, handing it to Sherlock. Lestrade gasps as he sees bruises on John’s exposed lower back. “Paracetamol, you can take two if you want. We’ll change the bandage after you shower, don’t want the stitches to become infected.” Sitting down at the table downing a couple pills himself.

“Yes Doctor.” Sherlock smiles fondly at John, removing four pills. He swallows two and places the other two in front of Greg on the table for his hangover. The sealed bottle goes back to its place on the shelf.

Greg clears his throat, “Um, John? I couldn’t help but notice bruising on your back. Care to explain?” while glaring at Sherlock.

Sherlock scowls, staring down Greg as John answers reassuringly “Those are courtesy of Robert King Greg. Neither sibling went down without a fight.” Placing a hand to his lower back. “They were both a bit sadistic, but he seemed to take joy with physical blows.”

\---

John has a standing appointment for a physiotherapy session, with Kevin, at St. Bart’s. He will pick up Rosie from Molly, via Bart’s child-care, when he’s finished. Sherlock agreed over breakfast to go into NSY with Lestrade to finish filling out his statement for the King case and to go over a few additional cold case files that might be related to them.

Lestrade dropped off John at the hospital on the way into the Yard. Sherlock sat in the front seat of Greg’s car with his hands clasped together in his lap. They didn’t talk on the way which suited the men just fine, John not wanting to give anything away, Sherlock still thinking about sentiment and Greg with a mild hangover.

While Sherlock was in the shower and getting ready for the day, John wrote his lover a note and left it in a pocket of Sherlock’s Belstaff for him to find later. On the way from the parking garage to the entrance to NSY, Sherlock’s bare hands get cool in the morning fog that had rolled into London overnight. Sticking his hands in his pockets, Sherlock finds a small envelope. Pulling it out he reads, on the outside, in John’s almost illegible scrawl, his name, underlined. Stopping, nervous, with shaking hands Sherlock opens the envelope and pulls out the folded note:

_My Dearest Sherlock,_  
I could write novels with the words I could never before say to your gorgeous face. I wanted to write this so you would have something to remind you to never doubt my devotion to you ever again.  
I love you.  
I need you.  
I will never, ever leave you.  
I want to spend the rest of my life with you.  
I want to fall asleep at night with you by my side.  
I want to wake up next to you every morning.  
I will love you forever.  
Always faithfully yours,  
John

Sherlock can’t move, he keeps reading and rereading the note his amazing John left for him to find. 

Greg was at the door into the building when he noticed Sherlock was not with him anymore. Turning he spots the man standing still, staring at a piece of paper in his hands. Sherlock stands, unmoving, in the middle parking lot until Lestrade comes over and touches his arm. “You ok there Sherlock? You look a bit stunned…” He asks concerned.

Sherlock reads the note one more time before replying “Everything is fine.” Smiling, he folds up the note, puts it back into the envelope and secures into an inner pocket. He pulls out his phone while following Greg into the building. He sends a quick text to John:

_Found your note, I feel the same. - SH ___

____

Sherlock doesn’t expect a reply, John leaves his phone in a locker while at his sessions at Bart’s. Feeling happier than ever he smiles at the glare from Donovan as he follows Greg into his office. 

\---

The Personal Blog of  
Dr. John H. Watson  
15th July

Long Live the King

For years I’ve been told, and I quote, “It’s never twins” by a certain Consulting Detective. But I give you Roberta Elise King and her fraternal TWIN brother Robert Elias King, who were hard to track down but Sherlock finally managed it. They had quite the killing spree over most of Great Brittan and we suspect northern France (Interpol was notified). As far as we know they are responsible for the robbery and murder of at least nine individuals. Course, Sherlock was only called in for 2 that looked suspiciously similar and spotted most of the rest in the unsolved cases NSY let him look through. Bloody brilliant he is!

Considering their violent history, they weren’t too hard to apprehend. Not that they didn’t put up a fight, mind. I think they were happy to finally be caught for the notoriety. So far they have confessed to every case Sherlock has linked them to. They won’t admit to any other victims though. NSY has a task force going through the rest of the unsolved cases for the past few years looking for similarities. 

So now, when Sherlock tells me ‘it’s never twins’, I’ll just mention the name ‘King’.

\---

After several hours Lestrade had had enough of pouring over cold case files and needed a break. Sherlock accepted Greg’s offer for a lift back to Baker Street. Sherlock propositioned Lestrade to come in for a cup of tea and a few leftover scones from breakfast to take home.

Mrs. Hudson is preparing to leave as they enter the street door, “Do you boys need anything at the shops Sherlock?” she wonders.

After kissing her cheek in greeting “Did you see when John came home?” Sherlock wonders.

“Yes, I was cleaning the entry when he and Rosie came in. He looked a bit worn out the dear.” She answers.

“Hmm, he had a therapy session today, they have a tendency to wear him out. Did you notice if he had any shopping with him? He mentioned going to the shops on the way back.” Sherlock reports.

“No, he said he was going to but Rosie started to fuss so he came home instead.” Mrs. H accounts.

“Ah, then we are in need of coffee.” Turns to head up the stairs and stops, turning his upper body back “Oh, and some milk if it’s not too much.”

“Of course dear. Just this once though mind, I’m not your housekeeper.” She smiles fondly while walking out the door Greg holds open for her.

John was napping on the couch with the baby monitor on the coffee table when Sherlock opens the door to the flat. Sherlock spots John, turning to Greg he says lowly, “Keep quiet, John is sleeping, don’t wake him.” Closing the door to the hall, when Greg walks through.

“Right” Greg answers, just as low, glancing over at John stretched out on his back on the couch. “Mrs. Hudson knit you guys a new blanket? It’s nice.”

After taking off his coat, scarf and toeing off his shoes, Sherlock glances at John while grabbing the baby monitor off the coffee table before heading into the kitchen. “John made the blanket, his therapist suggested it to help manage his anger. Not sure how well that worked out as he swore like a merchant sailor several times while making it.” Sherlock places the monitor on the kitchen table, lowering the volume. Turning he fills the kettle and sets it to heat before grabbing three mugs from the cupboard.

Lestrade looks closer at the blanket “Good job, didn’t know he had it in him.” He then watches John as he sleeps. John seems rather restless to Greg, furrowed brow, a curled lip, hands fisting and relaxing, and uttering low moans on and off.

Sherlock looks through the kitchen door and reminds Greg, “Seriously Greg, don’t wake John, let him sleep.” Before turning back into the kitchen.

Nodding, Greg answers “Yeah, yeah, right.” John tenses as Greg continues to watch him sleep. Fists staying clenched, a low growl like sound coming though the curled lip. One leg kicking the far end of the couch. Without really thinking, Greg reaches out to shake John’s hip.

From the kitchen Sherlock hears a simultaneous feral growl and a yelp in surprise. Running into the lounge he sees John kneeling, straddled, over a prone Lestrade with both of his hands squeezed tightly around Greg’s throat. “Fuck” Thinking quickly, Sherlock shouts out “Captain Watson!” even louder “At ease Captain!” once more, a bit more desperate “Stand down Captain, now!”

John finally realizes where he is, and what he’s doing “Shite!” while quickly rocking back and to the side to sit, hard, on the floor, in front of the couch. “I’m so sorry Greg! Are you alright?” Holding his left arm in his right across his chest.

Gasping and coughing, Lestrade curls onto his side while trying to catch his breath. Finally gasping out an “I’m fine” in a hoarse voice, while continuing to cough. “Bloody hell!” he croaks out.

“Greg I told you not to wake John! What were you thinking? You do remember John was a soldier, a former soldier suffering from PTSD?” Sherlock walks over and squats in front of a shaking John, who had moved so he was sitting with his back pressed against the couch, legs bent, head in his hands between his knees. Without touching, Sherlock reaches a hand out toward John “Are you alright John?” he asks softly.

John, wild eyed, looks up at Sherlock, “Bloody hell Sherlock! I’m just peachy! Christ, I just tried to kill Greg!” Shouting, shaking. 

Lestrade rasps, sitting up “I’m fine fellas, (Cough) really. I’ll be alright.” Cough. “Nothing to worry about. (Cough) My fault, I didn’t listen.” Cough.

Sherlock scoots closer so he can touch John’s arm, “See? He’s okay John.” In a low reassuring tone.

John is on the verge of a panic attack, Sherlock can tell his breathing is changing, just starting to hyperventilate as Sherlock sits next to John, putting an arm over his shoulders and pulling John carefully into an embrace, mindful of his sore left shoulder. “Relax John” he murmurs into John’s ear, “breathe with me now. In… out.” Pulling John closer, Sherlock starts to caress the back of his neck, over his shoulder blades and back up his neck. Softly, whispering in John’s ear “Relax, keep breathing with me. In… out.”

Greg coughs intermittently in the background and watches as John slowly relaxes into Sherlock’s arms, practically sitting in Sherlock’s lap. The two men breathing together as Sherlock whispers into John’s ear, rubbing a hand up and down his back. Standing, Greg spots John has a fistful of the front of Sherlock’s shirt, his other hand not visible under Sherlock’s suit jacket. Coughing once again he grates out “I’m going to hit the head.” Leaving the two men alone.

After a few minutes, “Feeling better?” Sherlock asks low, he can tell John’s breathing has evened out and feels his tremors have lessened.

John nods against Sherlock’s chest. “A bit.” Taking a deep breath “Thank you, for… this” tightening his grip around Sherlock’s waist.

“I’m here for you, always.” Sherlock murmurs into John’s ear, still caressing his back and neck.

From the floor in the lounge, Sherlock and John hear the kettle beep, Greg cough, and water pouring. Greg’s still somewhat raspy voice calls out “I’ll just make the tea then, you two relax.” 

“Why don’t you take a shower, it’ll help release more of your tension. If you’re still tense after, I’ll give you a massage.” Sherlock purrs the last sentence into John’s ear so Lestrade won’t hear.

“God I’m messed up, don’t know how you put up with all of it.” John sighs, nods and releases his grip off of Sherlock before standing. He sways on his feet a moment before offering his right hand out to Sherlock who accepts the hand up. 

Sherlock pulls John in for another hug, kissing his forehead before stating “You have had to put up with much worse in the past from me, how could I not?”

\---

“Is John always that violent? If not, what do you think might have triggered such an aggressive response?” Sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of honeyed tea, Greg wonders after he hears the water for the shower start to run.

Sherlock while preparing a pot for tea, “John usually doesn’t react so viciously when startled awake. If I wake him from a nightmare, most of the time he just shouts or throws a punch or two; something I learned to avoid.” Sherlock considers a moment before continuing. “Probably a combination of his reinjured shoulder, the fight with the Kings and his physiotherapy session. King left bruises and cracked one of the ribs Muldoon bruised a couple of months back, and John is tired and sore after his session with the physical therapist. The injury to his shoulder brings back the war where he was originally wounded. We’re both worn-out as Rosie is teething, neither of us is getting much in the way of sleep.”

“You’ll have to devise a way to keep Rosie from him when he’s sleeping, I’d hate to see him hurt her accidently.” Lestrade reluctantly adds.

“Yeah, we have already had that discussion. We both suffer from some degree of PTSD. John from the war, me from… when I was away. It’s been a while since either of us experienced this severe of an episode though, guess it never quite goes away.” Sighing. “We do have plans to put extra locks on the doors, and to put safety gates up when Rosie becomes more mobile. There is a box of baby protection gear on top of the refrigerator, the gates are under John’s old bed in Rosie’s room.”

“Good, good.” Taking another sip of his sweetened tea. “That reminds me, you being away. Is that where the marks on your back come from? I spotted them yesterday when I, um…” Greg stammers to a halt turning pink.

“Walked in on us?” Sherlock takes a deep breath, “John and Mycroft know what happened and I would really like to not have to go over it again.” Looking down the hall toward the bathroom. “Especially today.”

“I won’t push, I’m available if you ever need to talk about it though. I’m a good listener.” Greg adds sincerely.

“Thank you Greg.” Changing the subject, “Is your throat better? I thought the honey might help the cough. Doesn’t look like the bruising will be too bad.”

“Better, the honey is nice. I bet Donovan will just love this story!” he laughs.


	4. Down to Business

They’ve just finished up a human trafficking case for DI Dimmok that was solved in just under 26-hours. During that time Sherlock didn’t sleep, eat or drink anything, not even the tea John had made for him. Sherlock had only consumed plain water, and that only because John forced it on him. A couple weeks ago, John had picked up supplies and made arrangements to run blood tests through Mike Stamford’s office. John felt mostly healthy and hale again other than a slight tingling in his left palm, ring and pinkie fingers from the damaged nerves in his shoulder. Where Sherlock had stitches was well healed and shouldn’t leave too visible a scar. Time for a certain Consulting Detective to have his long overdue physical. 

John, walks into the kitchen where Sherlock had just clicked on the kettle. “Rosie didn’t want to go down for her nap. Oh, don’t eat anything yet, I want to draw a blood sample first.” Leaving the baby monitor on the counter.

Sherlock is confused, usually he’s urged to eat more. “John?”

Smiling “Figured I’d give you your physical today. Blood draw should be taken after at least a 12-hour fast. You didn’t eat or have coffee or tea during this case, I’m going to take advantage of it.”

“Oh, alright. Where do you want me?” Dancing an eyebrow provocatively.

“Kitchen is fine. Let me grab some supplies and I’ll be right back. Kindly take off your clothes sir.” Smiling.

When John comes back into the kitchen he is wearing only his buttoned, white Doctor’s coat with his pyjama bottoms on underneath. Draped over his right shoulder are a couple large bath towels and a folded sheet. He has his medical bag in one hand and a plastic bag from Bart’s in the other. He stops to admire Sherlock from behind as he prepares a pot to make tea at the far counter, naked. Most of the scars on his back are fading to silver, but several still stand out and probably always will.

John places his bags on an empty chair. Then spreads both large towels on the cleared off kitchen table then covers them with the folded sheet to add some cushioning. He then locks the kitchen door to the landing and double checks the door in the lounge making sure it is locked as well. Too many people have been walking in on them lately.

Coming back into the kitchen again, John is just in time to watch Sherlock hop onto the table and sit, primly, waiting for his Doctor. John clears his throat “Very good Mr. Holmes, let me just get a few things ready then we’ll begin.” Trying hard to remain professional.

Sherlock smirks “Of course Doctor Watson.”

John removes the sample tubes from the Bart’s along with clean needles and sets up his tools on the side table, using a clean tray to hold everything. The last things John removes from his bag are his stethoscope, gloves and a tube of medical grade lubricant.

When John turns around with a blood pressure monitor in hand, and his stethoscope around his neck, he notices Sherlock’s cock is at half-mast. John thinks ‘fuck, he is too bloody gorgeous’, while feeling himself growing hard at the sight. Out loud he states “I’m just going to take your blood pressure first Mr. Holmes. Try to relax and breathe normally.” 

Sitting on the table, Sherlock smirks and snorts.

John fastens the cuff of the monitor over Sherlock’s left arm. “Just rest your arm on my shoulder sir, relax your arm. Try not to move, breathe normally.” He starts to pump air into the cuff, checking Sherlock’s pulse at the elbow with the stethoscope. “A bit high,” while glancing down at Sherlock’s growing erection “We’ll have to take it again later, just to be certain.”

John removes the cuff, placing it on the side table, and grabs an alcohol swab and the needle for the blood draw. Even with extensive evidence of past intravenous drug use, John is able to get a needle into a vein on the first try and extracts four vials of blood for a variety of tests. Putting a plaster over the needle prick when done. “Next I’ll listen to your heart and lungs then check your reflexes.” 

Sherlock says nothing but follows John’s every movement very intently. John can’t help but notice Sherlock’s cock becoming fuller as the exam progresses. As Sherlock becomes more aroused, John finds himself feeling just as hard. John checks Sherlock’s eyes (pupils dilated), ears, nose and throat, skin flushed. “Please stand, turn your head and cough.” John feels Sherlock’s cock fill out further as he cups Sherlock’s scrotum checking for a hernia. John checks everything he can think of before moving on to the prostate exam.

“Now Mr. Holmes, I need to check your prostate. If you would be so kind as to turn around and lean on your elbows on the table, with your back to me please.”

“Yes Doctor. Will this hurt?” Sherlock moves smoothly into position, leaning over the table on his forearms, teasingly wiggling his bum. John spreads Sherlock’s legs a bit wider for better access.

“Everything’s going to be alright, I’ll take good care of you. You might feel a little discomfort at first. Just try to relax now Mr. Holmes.” John changes into a clean latex gloves and picks up the tube of medical grade lubricant. Naked Sherlock, plus lube, equals sexual release to John’s body; he can’t help but feel himself grow yet harder. John swears he can feel pre-ejaculate leaking down his hardening cock.

John squeezes out a generous amount of lubricant onto the sheet next to Sherlock then caps the tube. He lubricates up a finger of his left hand and starts rubbing soothing circles on Sherlock’s lower back with his right hand. 

“Relax and breathe for me Mr. Holmes.” John soothes out. “I’m going to insert a finger to check your prostate now, most men find this to be an enjoyable experience. Relax…” circling Sherlock’s arsehole with his slicked finger before inserting. “Remember to breathe.”

The moan Sherlock releases surpasses any John has heard in all of the porn he’s watched, it goes straight to his cock. 

“Just relax Mr. Holmes. That’s excellent Mr. Holmes, in a moment I’ll touch your prostate. Please try not to move around too much.” Looking up, John notices that Sherlock has a white knuckle grip on the edges of the table. He feels Sherlock slowly relax around his finger.

“That’s it, relax.” John breathes out, “Good, relax.” 

Sherlock starts to shake as John starts to rub his fingers over his prostate. John hums, “So far so good Mr. Holmes, everything feels healthy. Just a bit more…”

“Oh G… God! Hng!” Sherlock stutters.

“If you’re amenable Mr. Holmes, I can work in another finger to do a more thorough examination of your prostate.” John adds while continuing to pump his left index finger in and out of Sherlock’s hole, curling his finger over the sensitive nub. 

Sherlock begs, “Please Dr. Watson, more!”

“That’s good Mr. Holmes, I’m going to add the second finger now. Try to breathe normally for me.” John purrs.

John hears Sherlock chuckle which turns into another moan followed by “Oh God!” as the second slicked finger is added. Unerringly John curls his fingers and finds Sherlock’s prostate again.

“Dr. Watson please…” Sherlock sighs.

Rubbing Sherlock’s lower back with his right hand, “Don’t worry Mr. Holmes I’ll take good care of you. If you are amenable I can add a third finger…”

Before John can finish that thought he hears a desperate, “Oh God yes!” from Sherlock.

John adds more slick to his fingers, making sure three are slicked up before stretching Sherlock further. The moans of pleasure Sherlock lets out are going straight to John’s cock. John can’t resist kissing Sherlock’s lower back and bum while pumping his slicked fingers in and out, curling over Sherlock’s prostate.

“J, J, Jo, Dr. Watson I’m ready. Please… please fuck me!” Sherlock begs.

“Yes” John affirms, removes his fingers, adds more slick and while quickly dropping his pyjama bottoms then removing his lab coat with his right hand slicks up his cock with his left. He sighs with relief at finally getting some much needed friction. John then removes his gloves, slicked left glove inside the right one and tosses the wad into the bin in the corner. 

John taps Sherlock’s feet further apart, the man had squirmed during the examination and brought his feet closer together. John kisses Sherlock’s lower back while aligning himself with Sherlock’s hole. Both men moan in pleasure when John buries the head of his cock in Sherlock. 

John pauses with just the head of his cock inside Sherlock, “Feels so good, so tight, so hot.”

Under him, Sherlock moans out “more…”

John obliges, slowly pumping himself in, all the way out, pumping himself deeper with each thrust until he is fully seated. John continues to fuck Sherlock with shallow thrusts, hitting his prostate most of the time. 

They are both babbling compliments to each other; so good, just there, so tight, again.

John can feel his orgasm start to build and begins to take longer and harder thrusts. Too soon John hears Sherlock howl out his name as he climaxes, untouched, collapsing his upper body upon their kitchen table. With two final thrusts the orgasm that hits John is more intense than any he can ever remember. 

“You don’t give all of your patients exams like that do you Doctor Watson?” Sherlock pants out, trying to catch his breath, splayed out over the table on his stomach.

“Oh no Mr. Holmes, I would lose my license!” John giggles in response.

\---

Later that day, John is on his way to the St. Bart’s hospital gym again. Rosie stayed home today with Sherlock at his insistence.

Knocking on the door to Dr. Stamford’s open office door, “Hi Mike, I brought in Sherlock’s samples.”

“Oh, hey John. I’ll make sure they get in with today’s tests. You could probably run them through yourself though.” Seeing John’s look “You’re on retainer, so you technically work here now. Talk to Claire in administration, she probably has all your paperwork waiting for you.”

“Ah, I’ll stop by on my way out then. I have a PT session in…” checks his watch “twenty minutes with Kevin.”

“Good, how’s that going by the way? I was thinking of talking to Daniel about setting up an exercise routine for me. The improvement of your numbers at your annual physical last month were phenomenal.”

“Yeah, well part of it is was a diet change. After I left hospital in January I had issues with red meat, we’ve gone mostly vegetarian since then.”

“I don’t think I could give up a nice beef steak or bacon for that matter.” Mike admits.

“Yeah, I couldn’t abide bacon until recently. We’ve been kind of keeping with the diet though. Sherlock used to eat half my bacon before anyway, so nothing has changed that way. So far we’ve been sticking with mostly chicken and fish with a lot of vegetables and a variety of beans and tofu.” John sighs “I was surprised Sherlock went along with the diet change myself. Though he did steal the bacon and sausages when Mrs. Hudson insisted on cooking a full English the first few weeks. He was quick, don’t think she ever noticed. If she did she never said anything. We didn’t have the heart to tell her no, she means so well.”

Mike chortles “He’s a good man that Sherlock.”

“Yeah. Did I ever thank you properly for introducing us?”

\---

John knocks on the door labelled administration and hears a faint ‘come in’ from the other side. “Hello,” he greets the blond woman sitting behind the desk “Mike Stamford said I should come down and talk to Claire. I’m John Watson, Doctor Murray hired me…”

The woman smiles “Oh yes, I’m Claire McDowell the hospitals head administrator. Let’s see, John Watson, I have your file here somewhere. I just need to take a photo for your identification badge and everything will be complete.” She sorts through a pile and opens a file from the corner of her desk. “Here it is, Doctor John H. Watson. Did you bring your assistant,” reading from the file, “a Mr. Sherlock Holmes in with you today? I can have his ID badge made up as well.” She looks up hopeful.

“Ah, no. He’s not with me today… we can drop by another day. We’re here on a fairly regular basis…” 

“Yes, yes, no problem. I’m here Monday through Friday, 9-5.” Opening a desk drawer “Now, where did I put that camera… Ah, here it is!”

\---

The Personal Blog of   
Dr. John H. Watson  
15th August

Sussex Downs

We went down to Sussex, near Eastbourne, to investigate a duck, or rather ducks. Yes, you read that correctly – ducks; quacking birds with feathers that lay eggs. Victoria Parker raises prized Eider ducks, known for their exceptional quality of down feathers. Once a week, something was getting into her pens and removing two or three ducks only to have them returned the next night without a down feather on them. She set up cameras only to have them taken down or broken, no matter how well she hid them. She contacted the local police who were flummoxed and outsmarted for several weeks. 

By the time Mrs. Parker contacted us in desperation, she had lost the feathers on over half of her flock of ducks. 

Sherlock booked a room at a Bed & Breakfast just down the road, easy access he said. We arrived the day after a duck-napping and set ourselves up for a long night waiting for their return. Our wait wasn’t as long as we (mostly I) feared. In the end Mrs. Parker knew her duck-napper, a former colleague and now, former, close friend. We were even able to retrieve the missing feathers from Mr. Price’s home. As a bonus for catching the duck-napper so quickly our thankful client gifted us with a lovely down comforter and some homemade goat cheese.

\---

We spent an extra day in Sussex after catching Victoria Parker’s former lover and business partner Dominic Price nicking ducks. Molly and Mrs. Hudson were minding Rosie and agreed it would be alright if we delayed our return by a day, we hadn’t figured on finishing up so fast so they were prepared and looking forward to a ‘girls night’. 

I’m not really sure what Sherlock was looking for but we spent most of the day driving up and down the coast. Not that I’m complaining mind, it was a lovely, warm, sunny day. It is just a bit disconcerting watching Sherlock meander with seemingly no clear destination in mind. It was pleasant when we had a small picnic on the beach though, complete with a blanket supplied from the B & B to keep us out of the sand.

“Peaceful here, isn’t it John?” Sherlock asks me out of the blue.

Almost asleep from the warmth of the sun and the hypnotizing action of the surf “Hmm? Oh, yeah, very much so.” Shoes and socks off, jeans rolled up, leaning back on my elbows, ankles crossed, enjoying the sun and surf.

Sherlock lays down next to me in the same posture. Changing the subject, Sherlock adds, “Thought we could drive the rental car back to London instead of taking the train tomorrow. Would that be alright with you?”

I nod, “Sure, either way is fine with me. Just remember I’d prefer not to drive if I don’t have to.”

Sherlock takes my hand, interlocking our fingers “I know.” He looks back at the surf, holding hands. Not saying another word until we head back to our lodgings.

\---

Check out was noon, we left a little after eleven after having slept in and had a lovely breakfast. Sherlock drove along the coast road from Eastbourne to Folkestone where we ended up stopping for gas and a coffee. From there we ended up following the M20 then the A20 back to London with a few breaks along the way to stretch our legs and a quick lunch. 

With a late start, taking the long way and over an hour drive up the coast before heading inland, we arrived back in London just in time for the evening commute. During the drive we didn’t talk about much of anything in particular. Back in London, stuck in traffic, Sherlock opened up a bit.

“I enjoyed the peace and quiet of Sussex, didn’t you John?”

“Yes, of course I did. Maybe we could go back for a holiday someday? I’m sure Rosie would love playing in the sand on the beach.”

He gives me a quick look while we’re stopped. “I haven’t been on holiday since I was a teenager. Even then I was expected to learn something.” Watching the road once more as the car crept forward. “The summers I spent with my Grand’Mere I had to perfect my French, she refused to speak English.”

“Hmm, something we have in common then.” Sherlock gives me a quick perplexed look. “We both spent summers with our Grandmothers.” I give a rude hand gesture to the car that just pulled, abruptly, in front of us. “Course you learned languages and I learned how to tend sheep and chickens and then how to cook them.”

We giggle our way through traffic back to Baker Street.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a true story, this is my family unfortunately. I needed to write this to get it out of my system. I can very easily channel Moriarty whenever I think of my second cousin. I grew up with a police officer in the house and watch a lot of crime dramas… I could pull off a murder, and they would never find any evidence of wrong doing or the body for that matter! Sigh. Only a dream; I don’t look good in prison colors - repeat ad nauseam, until calm. Names have been changed to protect the innocent and not so innocent.

I made a quick run to the shops to pick up ingredients for a green salad for supper, it was just too bloody hot to even consider cooking anything and we’ve eaten a bit too much take-out lately. I left Rosie at the flat with Sherlock, they were playing on the floor with blocks when I left. I know I had closed the door of the flat when I left, when I returned the door is open and there is a woman sitting in the ‘client’ chair.

“Ah, John, you’re back. Excellent timing. We have a client, meet Miss Diana Ouellette.” Sherlock seems pleased, must be an interesting case.

Diane has long, straight auburn hair, blue eyes, and a decent figure, mid 30’s, irritated, from what I can see. “Hello, I’ll be with you in just a moment.” Smiling and holding up the shopping. “Need to pop a few things in the fridge.”

“Please, take your time.” Our client answers pleasantly, obviously not pissed with Sherlock then. Good, very good.

Surprisingly there is room for me to place both bags of food in the fridge without unpacking them. Thinking back, Sherlock has been keeping the toxic waste and body parts in the fridge to a minimum since Rosie and I moved back in. From the doorway of the kitchen I ask “Would either of you like some tea or water?” 

“Water would be lovely, thank you.” Miss Ouellette answers. Sherlock just grunts.

I grab three glasses of water as it’s a warm day, popping a couple ice cubes in each glass. I place them and some ginger nuts we baked the other day on a tray and bring them out with me. I inquire “Sherlock, where is the baby?” The monitor is off, he never does that if she’s sleeping and I don’t see or hear her anywhere.

Taking a glass and a handful of biscuits “Mrs. Turner’s grandson is visiting again. Mrs. Hudson took her over for a play date again. She assured me they’ll be back in time for supper.”

“Good. Sorry about that Miss.” Handing the woman a glass of water and offering biscuits.

“Thank you, don’t worry about it. Family should come first. That’s actually why I’m here.” Big sigh, “Family.”

Through a mouthful of biscuit crumbs Sherlock garbles “Why don’t you start over and tell John all about it.”

She takes a large sip of water draining about a third of the glass. “I guess I should add some background to this so I don’t sound so petty. Most of my youth was spent in the company of family. My aunt Myra and uncle Bob on my dad’s side share a vacation home with us. We spent many weekends, holidays and summers happily together. We’ve gone on trips around the country and even traveled abroad together over the years. My aunt turned 94 this year in March.”

“My aunt has a hereditary disease similar to Parkinson’s that runs in her family so she and my uncle opted to adopt children rather than the possibility of subjecting another generation to this disease. They adopted two girls. The older girl, Nancy, couldn’t deal with her birth mother abandoning her. The younger, Carol, was grateful that my aunt and uncle chose her out of the available babies.

“Nancy married several times, having a child with husband number two, a girl, Kim, and husband number five, a boy, Bobby. Nancy was a handful when she was younger, demanded undivided attention. Always wanted everything her way and was upset when she didn’t get what she wanted when she wanted it. We were constantly told how smart she was, even as she flunked out of secondary school. Her daughter Kim followed her example, but was forcefully expelled rather than just flunking out of school.

“We hardly ever heard any praise about Carol who graduated with honours. She went a bit wild in University but settled down fairly quickly and earned a degree. She now works as a nutritionist at a hospital in Cornwall. She became a born again Christian, married a man from her Church and together they have three children, a boy, Caleb, and two girls, Sarah and Rebekah. They live on a small estate with a large home, inherited by her husband.

“We’ve all gotten along very well until my uncle died a little over three years ago now. Kim started to spend more time with her grandmother, which normally is a good thing. Main problem is Kim chases away everyone else as she is even more demanding than her mother ever thought of being. Even resorting to telling lies to her grandmother about everyone.

“Everything became even worse around eighteen months ago when Nancy, in a drunken state of depression, successfully committed suicide by shooting herself in the head.”

I can’t help but mutter “Oh God!”

She continues “Yeah, bit of a shocker. My aunt never was one to be able to say ‘no’ to anyone, ever. Uncle Bob had started proceedings for a trust and had asked everyone, friends and family, to watch over my aunt and protect her from Kim’s manipulations. My cousins, Nancy and Carol both, did manage to spend enough time with my aunt just after my uncle passed to determine my aunt wanted to stay in her home and to finish setting up the irrevocable trust my uncle started. They even had the house put in Carols name so it couldn’t be sold without her consent. Since Nancy died, Carol is now listed as trustee, along with her two girls and myself.

“Just before my cousin Nancy shot herself, we noticed my aunt seemed to be having issues with her memory and wanted to have her checked by a neurologist to see if we could halt or reverse some of her memory loss. Kim convinced her we were sending her to a psychiatrist to have her committed so we could steal her house. The day of the appointment my aunt ran away from home to Kim’s flat. My mother and I were to drive her to the doctor.

“Just after Nancy shot herself, Kim managed to move into the house with my aunt, along with her boyfriend of seven years and their illegitimate baby girl, Maggie. Kim has convinced my aunt that this is her only grandchild, knowing her brother is married with two older children of his own; whom my aunt has spent time with. 

“We had been, my mother, brother and I, having my aunt over every week or so for supper and inviting her on our trips since uncle Bob died. Kim has convinced my Aunt that we’ve all be stealing from her, when the only person stealing anything is Kim! My aunt won’t talk to us anymore or any of her friends. We can’t get Kim away from her. Calls and letters go unanswered. We’ve sent birthday and Christmas presents with no acknowledgement of receipt. My aunt always, always answered calls and letters and sent thank you cards for every gift.

“When my mother and I stop by to visit we are told by Kim we have to make an appointment to see my aunt!” Miss Ouellette pulls out her phone and brings up a picture, enlarging it before handing it over to Sherlock. “This is a picture Kim put on Facebook of my aunt. You can clearly see bruises on her forearms. The bruises look consistent with abuse. Those look like they were created by someone gripping her arms too tightly; those are clearly fingermarks. 

“We’ve tried contacting the authorities but my since my aunt is an adult and won’t admit to any wrongdoing, nothing can be done! This, this, cretin is robbing my aunt of her freedom, family and friends!

“And now, the bank contacted us the other day. Apparently Kim had an epic fit, yelling and swearing at my aunt at the teller window. Kim was trying to take out £80,000 to ‘renovate the kitchen’ they were told. Thankfully the accounts in that bank are part of the trust and needs a second signature from a trustee for access! For that kind of money they could renovate my aunt’s entire home.

“I’m at my wits end Mr. Holmes. All I want is contact with my aunt again, the only thing I have ever wanted from her is time together.” 

Sherlock asks “You’ve gone to the police with this picture?” Handing me the phone.

“Yes, but when they question my aunt she says everything is fine. They’ve been there at least three times that I know of for wellness checks. The bank called after Kim had her hissy fit. I showed the police this picture and I have since found out one of the neighbors called when he heard Kim screaming abuse at my aunt.”

Still listening, I’m looking at the picture closely. These bruises definitely look like they were done by woman sized hands. I hand back the phone to our client. “Bruises look consistent with abuse, the makeup barely hides the black eye too.” Miss Ouellette looks at the picture again and pales; apparently she missed seeing the black eye.

“I agree.” Sherlock then adds kindly “I’m not sure there is much we can do if your aunt won’t admit to abuse. What were you expecting from us Miss Ouellette?”

“Is there no way to get enough proof to remove Kim from the house and free my aunt from her tormenter?” Miss Ouellette is on the verge of tears.

\---

The Personal Blog of   
Dr. John H. Watson  
20th August

Unforgettable

Miss Diana O (Last name withheld to protect the innocent) came to us with an interesting issue. A problem that was convoluted and complicated by the laws of the land. Her aunt has beginning stages of dementia and was being taken care of by her selfish, abusive, manipulating granddaughter. Sherlock wasn’t sure we were going to be able to take the case at all until we did a quick observation. After following the aunt and her granddaughter for less than a half an hour Sherlock was furious and I wasn’t too far behind myself.

In the end we installed surveillance cameras and microphones around the aunt’s house when everyone was out for the day (with permission from the homeowner). Sherlock took a few pictures of the interior of the home, appallingly filthy with drugs (legal and illegal), trash and dirty clothing and trash strewn all over the floors. The ensuing material was enough for the police to arrest the granddaughter and her boyfriend for drug possession, abuse and endangerment to the aunt and to their own child!

Unknown to the granddaughter, our client went through the house after her uncle died with a video camera and recorded everything in and around the house. The missing items were listed as being stolen, it is a long list so far consisting of art, jewelry, furniture and two sedans.

The aunt agreed to go live with her daughter’s family nearby while they arranged for home care with someone reliable. They are also fostering the granddaughter/niece. Our client is happy she gets to visit with her aunt once again.


End file.
